


See you next time

by Briar_Rose7



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: And I honestly have no idea if I'll write more of this, F/M, This started with a prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 19:05:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5016637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Briar_Rose7/pseuds/Briar_Rose7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was sort of trying to make a promptathon related to my exams, but it didn't really work out (and neither did my exams), but I did get this one prompt, and I tired my best with it.</p>
<p>The prompt was: "Belle is a hairstylist, Milah convinced Rumple to colour away his grey stripes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	See you next time

 

It was all Milah’s fault. She’d convinced him to color away the grey stripes in his hair and look at what had happened.

He’d never wanted to color them in the first place; his greying hair was just a proof of his aging and no amount of dye could invert that process. With his hair dyed he wouldn’t look younger, he would just look like a pathetic old man who was desperately trying to deny the truth. But, for the sake of his trembling marriage, he’d accepted. And what had happened after that proved that maybe he really was a pathetic old man.

He’d decided to look for a new hairstylist, possibly one who didn’t owe him any rent, least they decide to take revenge on their tenant by dyeing his hair of an heinous color. That’s how he’d found himself in a way-too-bright hair salon called “The dinglehopper” and that’s how he’d met Belle French.  
Well, he hadn’t technically met her there. He’d vaguely registered her presence throughout the past years, sitting at Granny’s with her friends, helping her mother at the library or her father at the flower shop, but he’d never actually talked to her before.  
The day he decided to dye his hair, she greeted him with the sweetest smile, and he was so surprised that he turned around, sure that she must have been smiling at someone behind him. Didn’t she know that he was the town monster?

Either she really didn’t know or she didn’t care, because from that day on she got only kinder and kinder toward him.

At first he’d tried his best to be his usual surly self and scare her away, but soon he’d find it impossible to be grumpy next to her; she had some kind of soothing power on him, and he’d discovered it right away, since the first moment she started shampooing his hair. There was something incredibly calming in the way she massaged his scalp, something that almost made him want to purr. 

He really was a pathetic old man. 

But no matter how much he’d tried, he had not found it in himself to stay away from her and he’d become incredibly meticulous in having his hair dyed as often as possible. He knew he was a married man and that she was seventeen years his junior, but he loved to hear her speak, loved to see her smile and feel her hands through his hair as she talked to him about the last book she’d read or how she dreamed of traveling the world.

He loved her intelligence and her weird sense of humor that seemed to match his own so perfectly.

He loved the way she made him feel like she liked him the way he was, without any need for changes. 

He loved her.

_Oh shit._

* * *

Belle was so screwed.

Of all the weird romances she’d read and dreamed of, she was pretty sure she’d never heard of something as foolish as a hairdresser falling in love with a customer for his floofy hair.

Well, it had been the hair at first, then she’d definitely fallen in love with all of Mr. Gold.  
Almost all of the town saw him as a monster, but to her he was just a man who liked to hide behind a mask to protect himself. From what she’d gathered his marriage wasn’t the happiest one, and she had come to think that his wife never made him feel loved enough, never made him feel _he_ was enough.  
He also had a complicated relationship with his son. A son that, as she would have liked to forget, was nearly her age. 

But his marriage and the awkward age gap were just two of the many reasons why Robert Gold would never look at her as anything but his hairstylist. First of all, the fact that he was basically the owner of their little town, while she was just a bookworm with a passion for every form of art or creativity and an endless list of places she wanted to visit.

Her love was destined to stay one-sided forever.

But as much as it pained her to be near him knowing he would never love her, it was still less painful than staying away from him. That’s why she made an arrangement with Ariel, her friend and co-owner of the hair salon, to always be the one to take care of Mr. Gold’s hair.  
He really had wonderful, soft hair, and she always took extra care with it. She was almost sorry to dye it, because she’d loved its greying look that first day and because she was afraid that dyeing it too often might ruin it, but she’d not found it in herself to tell him so. If he stopped dyeing it, he might never come in their salon again and she couldn’t take the risk. 

“Good afternoon, Miss French.” Here he was again, with his crooked smile and deep gaze. She knew she could have spent hours just looking in his eyes, trying to uncover every mystery hidden in there.

“Good afternoon, but I’ve told you a million times to call me Belle.”

“As you wish, Miss French.” They both giggled at that, and were still smiling as she started shampooing his hair. 

Time flew as they talked and giggled and smiled at each other, both keeping they mouths shut on how they really felt. Belle often wondered what it would feel like to delve her hands through his hair as they kissed.

“Are you alright, Belle? You’ve been staring at nothing for a while.” Mr. Gold’s voice broke through her daydream. Shit, she needed to be more careful.

“Oh, yes, I just… I was just thinking, that’s all. And you finally called me Belle!” Robert repressed the urge to slap himself. He’d called her by name. He’d (once again) failed to follow that simple rule he’d put on himself: to call her by surname to keep the distance. But, hell, he’d been concerned. 

He couldn’t go on like this. He was an awful husband, gaping at a much younger woman like a bloody teenager. The solution was simple, after all: he just had to tell her he’d never be coming in her salon again and then go home and forget all about her.

“Here, Mr. Gold, we’re almost done.”Sometimes she planned on telling him everything. Telling him how she felt and watch as he gravely but politely reminded her that he was a married man and then walked away from her forever. It wasn’t that bad of an idea, it would help her put an end to this pointless crush.

She bit her lip as he payed the check and scheduled his next appointment.

“So… see you next time, Mr. Gold.” _When I might be brave enough to tell you the truth._

“See you next time, Miss French.” _When I might be brave enough to say goodbye._


End file.
